From babies born to The Sex Pistols to birthing pools decorated with fairy lights, meet the midwife who's seen it all

There was a soft knock on the clinic door and in walked a white-faced, very young, very scared and very pregnant girl. Her mother scuttled in behind her and sat, stiff-backed and stiff-lipped, in the surgery chair, gripping her handbag like a comfort blanket.

Midwife Linda Fairley glanced at the girl’s notes. A quick mental calculation confirmed her ­suspicions: the girl was still months away from her 15th birthday, a gymslip mum ‘in the club’, as it was called back then.

The memory of hundreds of such girls lives on in Linda’s mind after an epic 40-year career, which last week saw her make history as Britain’s longest-serving midwife in the same hospital.

Early days: Linda with one of the first babies that she delivered at Tameside Hospital in Manchester. She says she can still remember her first delivery like it was yesterday

‘Yes, we had pregnant 14 and 15-year-olds 40 years ago, not as many as today, admittedly, but they are certainly not a modern-day ­phenomenon,’ she says. ‘The only difference between now and the ­Seventies is the gradual loss of shame. You could almost feel it back then, it followed them into the room.

‘Often, girls were so terrified they didn’t tell their parents until very late in the pregnancy.

‘One of my colleagues was sent to a delivery where the young girl only owned up when she was actually in labour. Nowadays, it seems the stigma is not so strong.’

Whatever Linda’s private views may be about this seismic shift in social acceptance of teenage single mothers, she will never share them in public. A true professional, she has learned to never judge the women (and increasing number of young girls) coming through her clinic door at Tameside Hospital in south Manchester — ­whatever their circumstances.

She would have treated that young unmarried girl exactly the same as she would a local dignitary’s wife or, indeed, one of her own children (who are yet to make her a grandmother and make use of the excellent in-house facilities, incidentally).

‘Sometimes, you may not believe in what’s ­happening,’ she smiles, ­choosing her words very carefully. ‘But it is my job to address the girl, to look after her and her baby to the best of my ability.

‘I want her to come through my door and feel like she’s my only patient, and the most important pregnant lady in the world. And from my ­perspective, they’re not so different really. ­Childbirth is a great equaliser.’

It’s this warm, no-nonsense, non-judgemental manner that has endeared Linda, now 62, to more than 2,000 mothers over the ­decades.

She has seen it all, and borne it all with the same unruffled mix of ­compassion and authority: from young flamingo-haired punks giving birth to the musical accompaniment of the Sex Pistols in the Seventies, to joss-stick wafting and whale-music blaring New Agers in the Eighties, and reference-book quoting, dogmatic power-mums of the Nineties.

Only on one occasion has she nearly lost her composure: ‘There was the girl who’d decked out her house like a fairy grotto, with all these beautiful lights dangling around her birthing pool — some hanging just inches from the water, threatening to ­electrocute and kill her at any minute,’ Linda recalls with a shudder. ‘Thankfully, I got there in time.’

Since arriving as a student nurse at Manchester’s Royal Hospital in 1966, Linda has seen nine changes in ­government, numerous recommendations, NHS targets and cut-backs.

She has also seen a gradual move away from home births and community care, which was the norm in the late ­Sixties and Seventies, to high-tech, obstetrician-led hospital births in the Eighties, and now back into the community again, with one-to-one, midwife-led care, and an increase in home births for low risk cases.

Record Breaker: 40 years after first taking up her role, Linda is still helping to delivery babies by working part-time across south Manchester

She’s seen the number of midwives fall to critical levels, with one
in three maternity units forced to cut staff, while at the same time UK
birth rates soar, partly driven by immigration.

Earlier this
year, she listened ­optimistically to David Cameron’s promises to
increase the number of midwives by 3,000 if elected, a ­promise it looks
like the new Coalition Government will renege on.

‘But you know,
babies just keep coming, the same as they always have, the same as they
always will under any government,’ she says, with a resigned
been-there-done-that sigh.

‘Yes, the red tape can be infuriating, and sometimes it feels new ­governments change things just for the sake of it.

‘The amount of paperwork we have to do nowadays, for example, is exasperating at times; when I’m with a patient, I am constantly aware of the amount of time I am spending looking in a book when, really, I should be looking at her.

‘Luckily, I am experienced enough to be able to ignore changes to a ­certain extent, particularly those placing constraints on the amount of time I spend with patients.

‘I will not cut anyone short. Women know when they come to my clinic that they will see me for as long as necessary. They may have to wait 45 minutes, but they will see me and feel better when they’ve gone.

‘That is how I manage my caseload and how I encourage my colleagues to manage theirs.

‘But really, things can only change so much,’ she continues wisely. ‘It’s like when people ask me about the tools of my trade, and how I’ve kept up with the advances in technology. I hold up my hands and say: “You’re looking at them. They’re the same tools we’ve used since Biblical times, and the best we’ll ever have.” ’

A convent school-educated ­daughter of two local caterers, Linda originally planned a career as a ­dietician when she started her ­training, and came very close to quitting half way through her course.

'Just feeling the warmth of a baby’s head in your hands, that new
life, there honestly is nothing like it. Even after 2,000-plus births, I
still come home buzzing every time'

‘I found it very tough,’ she admits. ‘I’d led a very sheltered life and ­suddenly I found myself in this busy, city hospital, where terrible things were happening. People were dying, I just couldn’t cope with it, and after speaking to my parents, I decided to hand in my notice.

‘My matron persuaded me to try a three-month taster course in midwifery at the St Mary’s Hospital, in the city centre, first. When my time was up, I was hooked. I finished my training and joined Tameside, in Ashton-under-Lyne, on January 1, 1970, qualifying a year later.

Within months of her arrival, the hospital opened its new maternity unit, and the then 22-year-old Linda was chosen as the advertising ­campaign’s ‘cover girl’ to appear on billboards around the city.

‘I was chosen because I think I looked how most people expected a midwife to look. I’d come from St Mary’s, with very strict rules on ­uniform; no make-up or earrings, hair tied neatly back with a nurses’ cap, starched white apron and seamed stockings.’

In fact, that uniform is one relic of the past that Linda does miss. The 2010 midwife’s uniform, with its tunic and trousers, is not totally ­dissimilar to those worn by staff at B&Q (although, admittedly, ­infinitely more practical and washable).

‘I loved my old uniform,’ she says, nostalgically. ‘I wore it even before I passed my driving test, and was ­nipping about the countryside on a moped, doing house visits, of course I was always expected to arrive neat and tidy.’

She remembers every detail of the first time she delivered a baby like it happened last week. ‘My hands were shaking so badly, the senior midwife had to put her hands around mine to steady them.

Linda was a member of staff when Tameside Hospital in Ashton-Under-Lyne opened its new maternity unit in 1971 and she was chosen as the face of the unit's advertising campaign

‘Thankfully, it was an easy birth — a third baby, with no complications, a gorgeous 7lb girl. I came home on an absolute high. And that thrill never goes.

‘Just feeling the warmth of a baby’s head in your hands, that new life, there honestly is nothing like it. Even after 2,000-plus births, I still come home buzzing every time.’

Linda doesn’t cry any more — apart from when the new dad starts to blub. ‘For some reason, that always sets me off,’ she laughs.

'I can predict with pinpoint accuracy which ones will hit the deck. It’s
always the macho men: the bigger the medallion, the harder they fall'

Dads are another recent introduction to labour wards over the past 40 years. ‘In the early days, they were not welcome anywhere near the birth. They were in the day room or kitchen if it was a home birth, smoking,’ Linda remembers.

She thinks their introduction is a good thing. ‘It’s all part of the drive to empower women, to give them choices. If they want the father of the baby with them, and will be happier and more relaxed as a result, then that makes our jobs easier.’

The fathers can present problems sometimes, however. ‘I’ve had my fair share of fainters,’ Linda recalls. ‘And I can predict with pinpoint accuracy which ones will hit the deck. It’s always the macho men: the bigger the medallion, the harder they fall.

‘We had one woman who looked around after giving birth and asked where her husband was. I told her: “I’m ever so sorry, but he’s on the floor, unconscious. We think he’s going to need a couple of stitches in his head. He’ll be with you shortly.” ’

And yet, there have been the not-so-happy endings too; the inexplicable stillbirths and repeated ­miscarriages, which, although ­mercifully few, are nevertheless upsetting. Linda has cried and grieved with scores of parents.

‘It brings home to you how cruel and powerful nature is,’ she says. ‘With all our advances in ante-natal care and screening, however hard we work to get things right, nature is always one step ahead.’

It was only after the birth of her own children — Jonathan, 37, who’s a teacher, and Fiona, 32, an accountant — that Linda fully appreciated what her clients went through.

‘Childbirth itself, I think I was pretty well prepared for, so there were no surprises there. But it was the worry and the sense of how ­precious a baby is that struck me,’ she says.

‘I felt fully qualified to sit on the other side of the fence and fret along with the rest of them.’

Linda retired at the age of 60 but couldn't stay at home for long and was quickly back in the job she adored

Having taken a few years off with each of her children, Linda was soon back doing the job she adored.

As she approached retirement, aged 60, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave the job behind. ‘I lasted only a matter of weeks, before coming back part-time,’ she says.

Nowadays, she’s one of four midwives, serving six GP surgeries, covering a 35-mile square radius around the Mottram area of South Manchester. She divides her days between post-natal home visits, ante-natal clinics and deliveries, both at home and at Tameside.

Recently, Linda was thrilled when she delivered the child of one of her first babies, as a fledgling midwife.

‘I remembered them, because the father was one of triplets, all ­delivered naturally and without complications, I am proud to say.

‘But I’m constantly surprised and touched when people come up to me in the supermarket, asking if I remember them. They look ­surprised when I confess I don’t. “But you delivered me 20 years ago!” ’ they say.

With a long list of thousands of babies behind her, there’s every chance her capable hands will have handled the heads, and felt the warmth of new life, of much of her community; eased future prime ministers, great surgeons, poets and philanthropists into the world, perhaps.

‘I still wouldn’t be able to think of them any differently,’ she says. ‘They’ve all been precious, all ­miracles, every single one of them.’